


Settled

by fhartz91



Series: Taking a Journey Together [70]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dom Kurt Hummel, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, New York City, Sexual Content, Sub Blaine Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 05:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19717411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/fhartz91
Summary: When Kurt commands Blaine to hand him his underwear at the dinner table of a fancy restaurant, Blaine has five minutes to figure out how....Time's up, and things don't look good for him.





	Settled

**Author's Note:**

> A follow-up to 'Unsettling'.

“So, pet,” Kurt says, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table, “I asked you for your underwear five minutes ago. Where are they?”

“Uh … I’m working on it, Sir. I just need … one more minute or two …”

“You get fifteen seconds, pet. After that …” Kurt leans forward, smiling like the devil “… I’m coming over there and taking them myself.”

Blaine’s breathing catches in his throat. Kurt coming to claim his underwear? He doesn’t doubt that that’s exactly what his Master will do, but it seems to go against some very important things that Kurt stands for. He doesn’t take kink into public spaces in ways anyone would notice. _No one participates if they don’t consent._ He doesn’t force kink on people. That’s one of Kurt’s staunchest rules. So he has to have some idea of how to get Blaine out of his underwear without anyone around them noticing.

And if his Master has a way, then so should Blaine.

But he doesn’t.

Blaine has been wracking his brain for every second of those five minutes trying to come up with a method of removing his underwear at the table like his Master commanded, but he doesn’t have a single clue. And that wicked smile winding like a watch spring around Kurt’s cheeks isn’t helping him any. Blaine knows that for every second he doesn’t comply, he’s accumulating points in Kurt’s mental vault, which will probably be exchanged for lashes with Kurt’s cane, minutes Blaine will have to kneel on rice …

… or jalapeno peppers that Blaine will have to eat.

Blaine has been terrified of breaking eye contact with his Master for this entire exercise, hoping something in Kurt’s face will inspire an idea. Or maybe his look of desperation will cause Kurt to take pity on him and he’ll give him a hint. When that doesn’t work, Blaine takes a chance and shifts his gaze for a second, scanning the table for anything that could help him.

There’s nothing really: both their plates, their glasses, the bread basket still full of bread, the butter dish …

His eyes finally land on one thing that might be of use. It could be off limits for being too obvious, but he’s run out of options and time. He has to go for broke – reach for it and see if Kurt will allow it.

Blaine’s hand creeps across the table, his fingers making their way to the one thing he hopes will help. From the look on Kurt’s face, Blaine knows he’s figured it out. Blaine pauses, waits for Kurt to stop him, tell him that it’s the easy way out, but he doesn’t. He watches Blaine grab the steak knife, pull it back towards him, and carefully slip it underneath the table.

Kurt raises a brow as Blaine’s gaze returns to his Master’s face, locked there obediently until he’s instructed otherwise. Beneath the table, Blaine feels around with his fingers - lowering the zip to his slacks, pulling loose the tails of his shirt, then locating the hip of his underwear. He says a tiny thank you to the universe that he chose bikini briefs and not boxer briefs, or else this would be an impossible chore. Praying the knife is as sharp as it looks, Blaine starts slicing through the cotton, trying not to appear conspicuous to the diners around him as he does. But regardless of any looks that might get thrown his way, he keeps his eyes on Kurt’s face and the blank look of amusement that has settled there as he waits patiently for Blaine to complete, or _fail_ , this task.

The knife turns out to be (blessedly) sharp, but the briefs don’t go down without a fight, especially when Blaine reaches the waistband, which is thicker than the rest of the garment by far. Maintaining constant pressure, he saws through it, missing nicking his skin by fractions of an inch. The second side goes quicker after that, after he has angle, speed, and pressure figured out. With that part done, he returns the knife to the table, bits of red fabric stuck to the serrated blade the only evidence of what he has done. With a nonchalance he’s fighting hard to hold on to, he lifts his rear a few inches off the chair he’s sitting on and tugs. It takes some finessing to accomplish without shoving his hand down the front of his pants or standing up completely, but after some shimmying side to side, he finally manages it, the relief of sliding them out the back of his pants washing through him in one barely audible sigh. He swallows hard as he sits back down, the seat of his slacks cold against his bare bottom. He balls the underwear in his right hand until they can’t be seen, then reaches out his closed fist to Kurt.

“Here you are, Master,” Blaine says evenly. “I hope this is an acceptable solution.”

Kurt takes Blaine’s underwear, worrying them in his hand with a look on his face so inscrutable, it sends chills up and down Blaine’s spine. Did he do it right? Did he succeed? He had to have. He did what his Master asked, in essence. Kurt doesn’t set Blaine up to fail, but maybe there was another way, something Blaine didn’t think of. Maybe he could have taken his underwear off without destroying them.

Blaine isn’t a physics major or anything, but he can’t possibly imagine _how_.

Kurt lifts the fabric to his nose and breathes in, his eyes darkening in the dim light of the restaurant. Blaine’s heart thuds madly in his chest, racing to heart attack inducing speeds when Kurt utters the words:

“You. With me. _Now_.”

Kurt pushes his chair out a foot, stands, and walks off in one fluid motion, leaving Blaine scrambling to keep up considering he has to tuck in his shirt and do up his fly first. _Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God_! he thinks as he catches up with his Master, heading towards what looks like coat check, oblivious to what Kurt has cooking in his head.

Kurt walks past the coat check, past the bathrooms, and out through a service door, unalarmed regardless of a large red sign to the contrary. They walk down a flight of stairs and through another unalarmed door, ending up in an empty hallway flanked by several unmarked doors. Kurt goes to one, puts his hand on the knob, and opens it to Blaine’s awe because _how in the hell does Kurt know where he’s going_!?

He feels there’s a story there somewhere, but now’s not the time to delve into it.

Without a word, or a glance to make sure no one sees them, he grabs Blaine’s elbow and shoves him inside. It’s a small, dark space, made smaller and darker when the door shuts and Kurt locks it. Blaine braces himself, for what, he doesn’t know. A slap in the face? A shove to his knees? A flurry of commands? A lecture on respecting his clothes? Handcuffs? It could be anything. But Blaine discovers he isn’t anxious from not knowing.

He’s _excited_ to find out.

Kurt grabs his sub’s shirt and drags him to him, even though Blaine can’t see two inches in front of his face. Kurt kisses him, his hands finding the buttons of his shirt and undoing them one by one down to his slacks. Blaine has no idea where they’ve ended up. Is this a bathroom? A closet? Who knows!? What does it matter? Kurt wants him – wants him so badly that he’s found a dark corner in the unimportant somewhere and pinned Blaine to it.

Buttons undone. Zip pulled down. But before Blaine can anticipate what might happen next, Kurt spins him around, yanks out his plug, and plunges his fingers inside him. Caught off guard, Blaine squeaks, and Kurt stuffs his ruined underwear in his mouth to shut him up.

Kurt’s fingers are ruthless - thrusting, scissoring, one more added, then another till Kurt has four in. It’s too much too quick, but of course it is, because Kurt himself is too much. And he knows Blaine, inside and out. He knows where to touch him, how to get to him. Kurt hits his prostate immediately, over and over, intentionally milking him. Blaine cums quickly, his whole body surrendering to tremors that nearly bring him to his knees, but Kurt doesn’t stop, replacing his fingers with his cock and pounding inside him, stroking his spent but still hard cock until Blaine is ready to crawl out of his skin.

Blaine stays still, stays standing and takes. That’s his place, his purpose in this scene, and he doesn’t want it to end. This control over his body, Kurt pushing his boundaries to points unknown, is part of the thrill of being Kurt’s pet. Of belonging to him. Kurt drives blunt nails into Blaine’s sides and Blaine bites the cotton in his mouth, holding back groans that sting his throat like fire. Kurt grunts into his neck, the only acknowledgement Blaine has that his Master is enjoying him, in that hungry way that signifies not only the hold Kurt has over Blaine, but the hold Blaine has over Kurt. Blaine knows this scene will end sooner than later because they’re still in public, violating some mysterious room in this restaurant that someone might need to use eventually. But Kurt has yet to say a word. He hasn’t told Blaine anything, hasn’t called him a good boy, hasn’t scolded him for what he did.

Hasn’t told him how he’s expected to reciprocate … or _when_.

This is raw ownership at its finest, and Kurt is well within his rights to keep Blaine in the dark, so to speak.

October starts the following week – or for Kurt and Blaine’s purposes, _Locktober_. That means a full month of chastity. And as much as Blaine enjoys being locked in a cage, as a self-described cock slut, he’s definitely going to miss _this_. He craves these assaults on his ass, Kurt holding him tight and using him like a mindless rag doll, devoid of emotion, without want or need, with little purpose other than to be a hole for his Master’s pleasure.

But being denied has its pleasures, too. Being edged to the verge of tears with no relief in sight carries its own catharsis. It helps him focus on his responsibilities as Kurt’s pet, to realign himself with his instinct to serve by removing completion from the equation.

He’s an object to serve his Master in the capacity Kurt needs.

Here and now, his job is to accept what he’s given, and to carry it with him until he’s given permission to release.

Blaine pinches his eyes shut to absorb it all in, write it in his memory, and store it away, hoping Kurt lasts longer than he did.


End file.
